5. Noelle

NOELLE

S awyer jerks away from me so fast I stumble. His warmth disappears as he sprints toward his workshop, leaving me breathless and confused under the glow of Christmas lights.

“What's wrong?” I call after him, but he's already disappeared through the mysterious door. The alarm continues its shrill warning, and even through the closed door, I can hear him cursing.

I move closer, and for a moment, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the door handle. He's made it clear his workspace is off-limits. But something in his panicked reaction tells me this isn't just a minor inconvenience. He obviously needs help.

Following my instincts (and maybe my curiosity), I push through the door. The transition is immediate and overwhelming. Like stepping from winter into summer. Warm, humid air wraps around me, and the scent of earth and green things fills my lungs.

“Sawyer? Are you OK?”

The sight takes my breath away. Beyond the workshop lies what can only be described as a winter wonderland—if winter wonderlands came with humidity gauges and grow lights. Row upon row of exotic plants fill the glass-enclosed space, their leaves creating a tapestry of greens and purples. Condensation beads on the glass panels above, catching the glow from carefully positioned grow lights and creating a constellation of tiny stars.

But it's Sawyer who catches and holds my attention. He's moving between control panels, his jaw clenched as he checks readings. The soft lighting in here casts shadows across his face, highlighting the worry etched in his features. His ridiculous Christmas sweater stretches across his shoulders as he works, and despite the situation, I can't help but appreciate how the damp air has caused his hair to curl slightly at the nape of his neck.

“The ambient temperature is plummeting,” Sawyer mutters, his gaze fixed on the rapidly dropping digital readout on the main control panel. “The backup generator's struggling, and the humidity's already below the critical threshold for the Paphiopedilum sanderianum .” He slams a fist against a control panel, and the alarm's shrill shriek echoes through the greenhouse. “Damn it.”

I step closer. “What can I do?” I ask, my voice barely audible above the alarm.

Sawyer whirls around, his eyes wide like he’s surprised I’m here “Noelle, you shouldn't be in here. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Too late. I'm already here, and you clearly need help, so teach me.” I plant my feet, crossing my arms over my light-up reindeer. “Put me to work, Mountain Man. I’m a fast learner.”

For a moment, he looks like he might argue. Then another alarm joins the first, and his shoulders slump slightly. “Fine. But you do exactly what I say when I say it. The air in here is saturated with moisture, and these plants are incredibly sensitive to temperature fluctuations. A sudden drop could cause irreparable damage to their delicate root systems. And these plants are worth more than your car.”

“Even with the custom Rudolph hood ornament?”

“Noelle...”

“Right. Serious business. Got it.” I mime zipping my lips, which earns me an eye roll.

He points to a stack of blankets. “Those are Mylar emergency blankets,” he explains. “But we need to use them strategically. The Phalaenopsis are relatively hardy, but the Paphiopedilums , especially the sanderianum , are particularly vulnerable to chilling injury. We need to create microclimates to trap as much residual heat as possible.” He demonstrates, carefully draping a blanket over a scaffolding supporting several Paphiopedilum rothschildianum , securing it with specialized clips that won't damage the plants. “The key is to maintain air circulation while minimizing heat loss. We need to prioritize the most vulnerable specimens first.”

“I can do that.” I grab more blankets and follow him to a section filled with orchids that are unlike any I've seen before—exotic and almost alien-looking, with complex patterns and colors.

“Like this.” His hands move with surprising gentleness for someone so large, and I’m again caught wondering how they’d feel wandering over my body... “We need to trap what heat we can until I can get the system stabilized.”

“Trapped heat. Sure.”

Working together, we move through the greenhouse, covering sections of plants. The space between the rows is narrow, forcing us to brush against each other as we work. Each time his arm grazes mine, or his chest presses briefly against my back as he reaches past me, electricity shoots through my body. The humid air makes his sweater cling to his shoulders, and I find myself repeatedly distracted by the play of muscles under the fabric.

“Careful with that corner,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear as he guides my hands to properly secure a thermal blanket. His larger hands envelope mine, showing me the exact pressure needed. “These specimens don’t like being knocked about too much.”

The proximity is intoxicating. Even in crisis mode, there's something intimate about the way we move together, anticipating each other's movements like we've done this a hundred times before. His voice grows softer, more passionate as he explains each plant's specific needs, and I find myself drawn in by his obvious devotion to his work.

“These are Paphiopedilums,” he says as we reach another elaborate display. He steps closer, one hand resting on the small of my back as he points out different features. “I’ve spent three years cultivating them. They were finally about to bloom.” The worry in his voice makes my heart ache, but there's also pride there, and maybe a touch of vulnerability.

“We'll save them,” I assure him as we carefully drape the thermal blanket over the delicate plants. Our hands meet at the corners, and neither of us pulls away immediately. “They're not giving up after three years, and neither are we.”

Sawyer's eyes meet mine as he gives me a nod. His passion for these plants transforms him, softening the hard edges I first encountered. As we work, he continues to explain each variety, his voice growing animated the more he shares their stories.

“This one is a Catts,” he says as we approach a particular orchid. His whole demeanor changes as he talks about it, like he's sharing a secret with a trusted friend rather than instructing an amateur. The orchid isn’t like the others, with vibrant colors that seem almost otherworldly. “It's one of my favorites, despite its... difficult nature.”

“Difficult how?”

Sawyer chuckles, a deep and resonant sound that sends shivers down my spine. His hands move expressively as he explains, and I find myself drawn more to his enthusiasm than the actual plants. “It's not always easy to work with. It has specific requirements, and if those aren't met, it will let you know in the most dramatic fashion.” He looks at me, his green eyes gleaming. “Kind of like you and your need to decorate for Christmas, I suppose.”

I laugh, finding his gentle teasing endearing. “There’s no harm in having specific requirements, Sawyer. Mine are about spreading holiday cheer, and your beautiful orchids are just trying to spread cheer in their own special way when they bloom, I guess.”

He pauses in his work, looking at me with a small smile. “You have a point there, Noelle. We're all just trying to create our own little world of joy and happiness.” He gently adjusts the blanket around another delicate plant. “It's just how we choose to do so that varies.”

“Is this how you find your joy?” I ask in an almost whisper. “Taking care of your plants?”

His eyes drop to my mouth, then return to my eyes as he nods. “It was.”

Was.

The word seems to stretch between us, charged with an unspoken understanding. I can feel the warmth of his body as he inches closer, the air thick with an earthy scent, and something electric that thrums beneath my skin. The humidity makes everything feel more intense, more intimate, as if we're wrapped in our own private world among his precious orchids.

My heart races as he leans in, his lips just shy of mine, and holds. The moment becomes suspended in time, ripe with a possibility that has my entire body screaming for him to do more. I could lean in myself, close the tiny bit of distance between us and take this kiss he’s holding back. But as everything around us fades into a blur, the exotic orchids, the raging storm outside, even the cold creeping through the glass walls of the greenhouse, all seem to do exactly what I am in this breath-catching moment. Waiting. Hoping. As the soft glow from the grow lights catch the green of Sawyer’s eyes, making them seem almost luminescent as they search my face. Please kiss me.

He furrows his brow, and I can see a flicker of uncertainty, as if he's grappling with a decision he doesn’t want to make. His hand comes up, hovering near my face but not quite touching, like he's afraid I might disappear if he moves too quickly. And honestly, I feel much of the same. I can scarcely believe how much I crave the warmth of his lips against mine, and yet I can’t seem to move . My heart pounds in my chest, daring him to close the distance. I need him to choose me.

“Sawyer…” I begin, barely able to contain my hopes, my voice coming out as little more than a whisper. But before I can say any more, the alarms finally cease, the silence almost as jarring as the initial sound was.

Sawyer lifts his head and looks around the greenhouse, the sudden quiet pulling us both back into reality. I blink, trying to shake off the dreamy haze that enveloped us.

“Looks like we have things stable. For now.” Sawyer’s hand drops, and with it, my heart sinks just a little. “We'll need to monitor it through the night.”

“We?” I blink again, my heart performing a confused little dance at his choice of words. “You mean, you want me to keep helping?”

His lips twitch at the corners, a hint of that rare smile teasing its way into view. “Seems we make a pretty good team. I couldn't have done this without you, Noelle. Thank you.”

“See what happens when you let people in?” I start gathering the leftover thermal blankets. “Even Christmas-obsessed social media managers have their uses.”

“Leave those. We might need them again.” He guides me toward the door with a gentle hand on my lower back. “Come on. You must be exhausted.”

The warm air of the cabin feels almost refreshingly cool as we step out of the humid greenhouse. The lights I hung earlier make the space feel intimate and cozy now. It finally feels like Christmas.

“You know...” I glance up at the paper mistletoe I'd hung in the kitchen doorway earlier—just a quick sketch, but recognizable enough that when we stand underneath it, I can’t bring myself to let another opportunity to kiss him slip through my fingers. I’m dying here.

He follows my gaze, lips twitching. “Is that…mistletoe?”

“Seems so. Crazy how it just kinda appeared there.”

Sawyer raises an eyebrow. “Just…appeared.”

“We don’t question Christmas magic, Sawyer.” I shrug, trying to ignore how my heart is trying to escape my chest. My fingers fidget with the hem of my ridiculous sweater, needing something to do besides reach for him. “And it's bad luck to ignore mistletoe traditions. Even paper ones.”

“Is that so?” His voice drops to a rough whisper that does delicious things to my insides. One of his hands comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheek. The calluses on his fingers from working with his plants create a delicious friction against my skin. “Wouldn't want to risk bad luck.”

“Definitely not.” I'm not even sure how I'm forming words with him looking at me like that, like I'm one of his precious orchids he wants to study and cherish. The warmth of his palm against my face makes it hard to think straight. “Not after we just saved your orchids.”

“Absolutely.”

“And especially now that those alarms have finally stopped interrupting us.”

“I don’t think this should be interrupted.”

“Although you don’t have to. I mean…if you don’t want to. I’ll underst?—”

“Noelle?”

“Yes?” The word comes out breathy, wanting.

“Stop talking.”

His mouth crashes into mine, and the world dissolves into sensation. His lips are firm but gentle, coaxing rather than demanding as they move against mine. I melt into him, my hands fisting in his sweater as he deepens the kiss. He tastes like coffee and something uniquely him, and I want more. Need more.

A soft moan escapes me as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entry. I open for him eagerly, and he groans, the sound vibrating through me as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him. My curves fit perfectly against his hard planes, like we were made to come together this way.

Somewhere in the background, a clock chimes. Sawyer pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily as he looks at me with a tenderness that I never would have believed possible when I first crashed into his life.

“Midnight,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on my cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” I'm still a bit dazed from the kiss, my lips tingling. “What did you wish for from Santa?”

He studies me for a long moment, his eyes dark with something that makes heat pool in my belly. His gaze traces over my features like he's memorizing them, and I hold my breath, waiting.

“You,” he whispers, the single word filled with such raw honesty it makes my heart skip. His fingers thread through my hair, cradling the back of my head as he pulls me closer. “Just you.”